


Whipped

by callay



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Light BDSM, M/M, Smut, Whipping, basically crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callay/pseuds/callay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when you cross Michael, Ethan, and a whip?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whipped

**Author's Note:**

> This fic follows [Sweat](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1974261), and, theoretically, connects it to [Three](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2145201).
> 
> Really, I just felt like more Ethan silliness and more Michael/Ethan smut.
> 
> (Also, I continue to be terrible at titles.)

Ethan hesitates outside Michael’s door for a long time. Partly because he needs to catch his breath after climbing all the stairs up here, but mostly because he doesn’t know exactly what’s waiting for him on the other side.

Of course, as soon as Ethan actually gets his nerve up to knock, the door swings open from the inside and Michael looks out at him.

Michael is grim, and as striking as ever in his long coat, and as handsome as ever. Instantly Ethan flushes bright red, because seeing Michael this close brings to mind everything about _the Incident_. The Incident in the greenhouse, with the sweat and the nudity and the sex, and the _Michael_ , and Ethan should definitely not be thinking about this right now.

He needs to focus on the situation at hand. He should stop thinking of Michael as a guy who hooked up with him a week ago and hasn’t said a word to him since, and start thinking of Michael as his superhuman boss who has full authority to punish Ethan for any crimes he may have committed. Allegedly committed.

Ethan isn’t sure which version makes him more nervous.

Michael’s just looking at him in silence, so Ethan clears his throat and starts, “I can explain. You see, putting aside what happened with the chicken, then it wasn’t so much _stealing_ as – “

Michael cuts him off. “I already know what you did.”

“But do you, because I think if you knew the full story – “

Ethan’s voice peters out under the force of Michael’s glare.

“Follow me,” Michael tells him, and steps back inside.

Ethan follows, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, furiously trying to figure out what’s going on – while getting a good look at Michael’s room, which he’s never seen before.

Maybe Michael asked for Ethan to be sent up here because he’s actually planning to forego punishment and just screw Ethan senseless on his giant, plush bed.

Then again, maybe this is the last straw and Michael’s kicking Ethan out of the Archangel Corps, and brought him up here to break the news gently, amidst the calming light of all these candles.

Maybe both, thinks Ethan. Which he could probably live with.

No, he tells himself. He likes his job. He wouldn’t give it up to become Michael’s concubine.

Probably.

Not that Michael wants that, apparently, thinks Ethan with a flush of bitterness and confusion. It’s been a week since the Incident, and Michael has barely even looked at Ethan since then. Even though he’d said there’d be a next time.

Before Ethan can stop himself, he asks, “So, why the cold shoulder?”

“There’s no ‘cold shoulder’,” says Michael coldly over his shoulder. “I did enjoy our encounter the other day, but I have other things to think of.”

Michael stops in a back corner of the room, and continues with deadly seriousness, “Such as rampant theft disturbing the operations of the city.”

Ethan opens his mouth to respond, but closes it again as Michael’s eyes flash angrily.

Right. Scary Michael.

“I think ten lashes are appropriate in this case,” says Michael.

“Are you going to whip me? Here?” Because he knows that Michael’s devoted to proper discipline, but to keep a whip in his bedroom seems pretty extreme.

But this is Michael, after all.

Michael just glowers at him. “You can lean on that desk.”

Ethan walks slowly over to the desk in question as Michael crosses to a cabinet nearby and returns with a whip coiled in his hand.

Ethan’s starting to sweat. For all he’s good at avoiding punishment, nobody can be lucky all of the time, and he’s had a few experiences with whipping before. Not fun.

Heart skittering in his chest, he turns away from Michael, braces his hands on the desk.

Damn it, this is going to suck.

Bargains, excuses, pleas build up under his tongue, but he can feel Michael glaring at his back and even he has enough sense to keep his mouth closed.

He hears Michael moving, and then the swish of the whip through the air, and he has enough time to think, “Oh, shit,” before the whip cracks through the air and hits his back.

At first it’s just the force of the impact, and it knocks a grunt out of him, but an instant later he can feel the actual pain, a burning stripe across his back, and his voice shifts to a groan.

Fuck if he’s being stoic about this. Maybe he can make Michael feel guilty about it.

That’s assuming Michael has a heart, of course, he thinks, amusing himself for one moment before he hears the whip moving again and his world narrows to the expectation of pain, which seems almost as bad as the pain itself - until he actually feels the pain, that is.

Before he can do more than groan, the whip strikes again, a third burning stripe across his back. He presses his fists against the table and gasps, “Nnnngh, fuck.”

He hears Michael take a sharp breath and expects to be scolded – he probably shouldn’t be swearing in front of the archangel, Incident or no Incident. But Michael doesn’t say anything.

Okay, great, Ethan will take that as a green light. Because in his experience, swearing is not only fun in general, but helps distract oneself from pain pretty well.

The whip cracks again, marking another burning line on Ethan’s skin, and Ethan moans, “Shit, owww, fuck,” slowly, so the words absorb some of the throbbing aftershocks of the hit.

There’s a longer pause this time, almost enough for some of the pain to fade, but then a new hit lands and it’s worse than ever. “Ahh, that’s fucking – _fuck_.”

And he definitely hears another breath, almost a gasp, from Michael. And then: “Be quiet,” says Michael in a low voice.

And is that -?

There’s a catch in Michael’s voice. He still sounds commanding but somehow –

It reminds Ethan of the Incident.

Oh, shit.

Michael gets off on whipping people?

Of course Michael gets off on whipping people.

Ethan’s trying to figure out how he should react – should he be creeped out? Flattered? Is this to his advantage or does it just mean Michael will whip him more? But he doesn’t have time to think, because he hears the whip in the air and his body has an instant to tense before it cuts into him.

Ethan opens his mouth and channels the pain into the dirtiest moan he can.

It’s not a plan so much as troublemaker’s instinct, but he counts it as a success when he hears a strained gasp from Michael.

He’s not looking _forward_ to the next stroke, not exactly, but he is thinking about what he can do to provoke Michael further. He waits breathlessly for the sound of the whip in the air, arching his back in anticipation.

Except then he hears the noise of something hitting the ground and all of a sudden Michael’s there, pressing close to his body from behind, planting his hands on either side of Ethan’s on the desk. All heat and strength up against him and Ethan doesn’t even care about the sting of his back anymore because Michael’s breathing hard in his ear, and other parts of Michael are hard too.

Mission fucking accomplished.

Part of Ethan thinks this is hilarious, but it’s a pretty small part, because most of him is thinking about how all of their clothes need to be gone immediately. He grinds back against Michael’s cock, need running through him like an electric current.

Michael lifts one hand, runs it up Ethan’s chest, pushing up his shirt as he goes. Ethan squirms helplessly at the feeling of it, the rough caress up his stomach and over his chest. Michael’s movements have an urgency that’s usually hidden behind his cold façade, and it’s driving Ethan nuts. 

Michael straightens, enough to put his other hand on Ethan’s back. His fingertips pass lightly over the lines left by the whip, just enough to send a weird shiver through Ethan. 

When Michael speaks, his voice is quiet but tense. “Did you like the whip?”

“Yes,” says Ethan automatically, breathlessly, because his body is telling him to agree with whatever Michael says. “It hurt, yeah, but it was kind of – really hot,” he says, which isn’t exactly the truth, but he doesn’t want to say, “ _You’re_ really hot,” because it might seem too desperate.

Though it’s possible he’s already crossed that line in the way he’s rubbing his body back against Michael.

Michael puts a hand on Ethan’s head, then runs it up until he can grab enough of his hair to pull. Ow. But _oh_.

“There’s so much more I could do to you,” Michael says, low, against Ethan’s ear.

Ethan shivers. Just how kinky is Michael? He’ll be cutting you next, Ethan tells himself, he’ll be holding you down and choking you, and totally fails to feel the trepidation he’s aiming for. Kind of the opposite, actually.

“Just fuck me,” he says, desperately, maybe too frankly, but he’s pretty sure they’ve reached that point if Michael’s cock is riding against his ass.

Michael breathes out hard and moves his hands. Ethan thinks that Michael might be reaching to pull off Ethan’s shirt, or that he might turn Ethan around and kiss him, or maybe (hopefully?) scoop him up and toss him on the bed.

But instead Michael’s hands are immediately at Ethan’s belt, tugging it open.

And that’s good too.

Really good.

Cool air hits Ethan’s skin as Michael tugs down his pants and underwear. He immediately tries to push back, make contact with Michael, and he just ends up rubbing awkwardly up against Michael’s hands, busy at his fly, and then – yes.

Michael’s cock presses against him, a burning line of heat between his cheeks, and Ethan moans aloud. He’s almost shaking with anticipation. It’s been ages since he got laid, which is actually totally inconsequential next to the fact that this is _Michael_.

Michael reaches into a desk drawer for lube. Of course Michael keeps lube in his desk, thinks Ethan with the small remaining unfried part of his brain. Does he even use this thing for anything normal like paperwork? Or is this desk just for whipping and fucking people?

It is a good desk for fucking, Ethan has to admit. The edge is rounded, doesn’t even dig into his upper thighs where he’s pressed up against it. It’s a good height, works perfectly when he bends all the way over and leans on his elbows –

And then he loses his train of thought because Michael gets a hand between their bodies and presses a slick finger into him.

A shock runs through Ethan, and then a heartbeat later, a shudder. This feels amazing already and it’s just one finger. He’s going to get more, he thinks, more fingers, Michael’s cock, and he groans, dropping his head to the desk.

Michael’s breathing hard, and he’s not being careful, he’s dripping lube all over and shoving his fingers hard into Ethan, but Ethan loves it. He’s gasping and feeling Michael inside him and moaning against the desk, something about “fuck me” and “Michael.”

Michael’s voice is even when he asks, “Are you ready?”

Ethan’s been ready all week, he thinks, he’s been ready for five years, but what he says is “Yes, please, yes.”

And Michael pushes into him, in one long slow thrust, and all of Ethan’s breath comes out of him in a whimper because there’s no room inside of him for anything but Michael, huge and hot and perfect.

Michael groans, low and hoarse, and rustles.

Rustles?

Ethan twists around to look at Michael, and oh. “You have wings,” he breathes. “I mean, of course you have wings, but I didn’t – _aah_ –“

Michael starts rolling his hips then, and Ethan has to plant both forearms back on the desk to keep from melting entirely at the feeling of it, the perfect hot slide of Michael’s cock. It feels even better than he imagined, and Ethan has a very good imagination.

He can still see Michael in his mind’s eye, the striking power of his wings but also the beauty of them, dark and elegant. And the look on Michael’s face, stern, but his _eyes_ –

“Be quiet,” says Michael, voice hoarse but steady, and Ethan may have been thinking aloud again.

“Fuck, sorry, I – nngh – you’re just –“

“Quiet,” repeats Michael, not loudly but with an edge of command that runs through Ethan’s body like an electric shock.

He gasps and shuts up. Because there’s the pleasure building in waves from Michael thrusting into him, but then there’s also the knowledge buzzing through his veins that this is Michael. Michael, the almighty angel, above and around and inside him, pressing him against the desk. Ethan usually bucks at authority, but even he has some primal instinct telling him to roll over and show his belly. To give Michael everything.

And fuck, it feels good to give Michael everything. He presses his forehead to the desk and arches back into Michael’s thrusts.

Michael lets out a low, pleased groan at that and fucks him even harder, one hand on Ethan’s hip and one braced on the desk.

It’s perfect, Michael angled just right to send white-hot sparks shooting through Ethan, the insistent rhythm building and building, both of them breathing hard. Ethan keeps his mouth and eyes closed and lets the sensations rush over him, dizzyingly intense.

And then it gets more intense and more perfect, because Michael suddenly shifts and wraps his hand around Ethan’s cock. Ethan moans helplessly, half in surprise and mostly at the feeling, because he’s been achingly hard for a long time now, and Michael’s fingers are tight and perfect around him, moving in counterpoint to his thrusts so that the pleasure hits Ethan like a tidal wave every time, rushing in from everywhere, making his whole body thrum with need.

Ethan can’t help but gasp in a breath and start talking. “That’s perfect, Michael, that’s, ah, amazing, I’m gonna come if you, unh – if you just keep –“

Michael makes a growling noise and speeds up, slamming into Ethan hard enough to knock a pile of books off the desk. The violence of it almost hurts, but it’s insanely good too, sending bright bursts of pleasure through Ethan until he can’t even see, can’t breathe, can’t think, can barely talk.

“Michael, Michael –“

And then he’s coming, pleasure rushing through every part of his body, pulsing tight in his belly, spilling out over Michael’s hand and onto the poor desk.

And Michael, Michael is saying something that Ethan doesn’t even think is English, and shaking, and coming too, burying himself deep into Ethan.

“ _Fuck_ ,” says Ethan, eventually.

He feels tired, and sore in all sorts of places, and he’s suddenly aware of his back throbbing painfully – but he doesn’t even care, because that was _amazing_.

“I should get arrested more often,” he says, contemplatively. “ _Or_ –“, he continues, hearing Michael taking a breath to object – “We could do this more often. And for reasons that don’t involve me screwing up.”

Michael’s hands are warm on Ethan’s hips, and he leans in so his breath is hot in Ethan’s ear. “That would be good,” he says.

Ethan has never agreed with Michael more.


End file.
